


on my way

by crimsvn, GameMaster



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - 1930s, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bank Robbery, Crimes & Criminals, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, Found Family, Historical Inaccuracy, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Bonnie and Clyde, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:55:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29565747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsvn/pseuds/crimsvn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/GameMaster/pseuds/GameMaster
Summary: After his prison break, Dream and his gang are quick to return to a life of crime.With his gang and George by his side once again, Dream was invincible. Right?-Or, the DNF Bonnie and Clyde AU.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Karl Jacobs & Sapnap, Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 100





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello!
> 
> this AU has been in the works for a few weeks now, and we're super excited to finally post!! :)
> 
> not sure when updates will be just yet, but the tags + etc. will update accordingly!

George shifted as he stood outside the gates of Eastham prison. It seemed no matter how he stood, the barrel of the revolver pressed uncomfortably into his hip. It was a small price to pay for the day he’d been waiting so patiently for to go by smoothly.

The prison loomed over him, grey and unfriendly, gates opening as if they were a monster about to swallow him whole. Little did the prison know— _he_ was in fact the real monster. A wolf in sheep’s clothing.

The security process was minimal, pathetic almost. They even neglected to pat him down, although he prepared for that. His gun sat snugly in a padded pocket that would easily evade detection.

As he finally reached the prison’s visitor room, the guard that had escorted him stopped George outside the door to brief him on the rules.

“Sit in front of the glass divider, don’t touch the glass, don’t purposefully do something to anger the prisoner.” The guard sounded bored, as if reciting a script, voice hollow and eyes sunken. George couldn’t _wait_ to stifle that boredom.

“All clear,” George responded politely, offering a reserved smile. He knew the drill, and he knew exactly who was waiting for him on the other side of that door.

The guard nodded and pushed the door open for him. George walked through to find Dream already sitting there, waiting for him patiently. He took his seat and smiled through the glass. Dream replied with a lazy grin.

“Nice to see you, Georgie.” Dream brushed a hand through his blond locks and leaned in closer to the glass. “Is that a nineteen thirty-two H&R Sportsman revolver in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

George huffed and hovered his hand over where the gun was hidden along the seams of his pants.

“Nineteen thirty- _three,_ actually.”

Dream’s eyes widened and he sat back in his stool, tapping his fingers on his lap. 

“I didn’t realize today was the day,” he said with amazement, gaze drifting to a clock high up on the wall behind George. “Forty-five seconds until the changing of the guards. We have a little time to talk.” George chuckled lightly.

“I’m sure we’ll have lots of time to talk when I get you out of this pig-pen,” George replied softly. Dream raised a brow, humour dancing in his eyes.

“To talk?”

“Among other things.”

Dream nodded, satisfied. Once again his eyes flitted up to the clock and he hummed out, “Fifteen seconds now.” George tilted his head.

“What would you bet that this glass isn’t bulletproof?”

Dream swiped some lint off his jumpsuit. “I’m willing to bet one prison uniform.”

_Three..._

_Two..._

The guard watching them left the room and after his footsteps faded down the corridor, George quickly stood and pulled out the revolver.

“Move,” he ordered. Dream stood up and shuffled to the side, a smirk still plastered on his face. George cocked the gun and fired, sending a bullet smashing through the glass divider. It shattered with a deafening noise and Dream quickly hurdled over the wall.

“You’re just as pretty as I remembered,” he cooed, grabbing George’s wrist. The brunet felt a blush creep over his cheeks but he quickly tugged his wrist out of Dream’s grasp.

“Play later.” George kicked open the door, holding his revolver straight out in front of him. They had five shots left, which should be more than enough given the lazy guards.

“If you insist,” Dream laughed.

The two boys began to jog through the prison. They passed one unarmed guard who let them pass as soon as he saw the firearm in George’s grip.

“No alarm?” George huffed as they continued to the front. As if on cue, a shrieking siren went off and they picked up their pace.

God, Dream had missed this. The wind tangling his hair, his heart beating out of his damn chest, and George, right alongside him as always. Even in the awful fluorescent lights of the prison, brown hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, George could have been straight out of a film.

Karl, Quackity, and Sapnap waited in a car some ways down the dirt road that led to the prison. Several guards, now alerted and armed, chased after Dream and George as they made their escape, kicking up gravel and dust as they sprinted for the meeting point. The guards hailed bullets down on them as they ran, George only ever looking back to return fire.

George tried not to pay mind to Dream’s noticeable limp.

The motor had already been running for quite some time when Dream and George reached their getaway vehicle. The side door was violently swung open by Karl upon having spotted the two, just as the car began to roll forward, impatient. Sapnap, with his lead foot, itched to leave just as much as the rest of them.

Dream hopped on the step of the car as it started to move, pulling George up with him, hands still cuffed. He pushed George into the backseat, ducking in after him to find the smiling faces of his friends awaiting him.

The car rattled a bit as bullets hit the back of it but none of them were worried about the damage, they’d pick up another car soon enough.

“You weren’t supposed to set off the alarms, nimrods!” Karl hooted, whacking Dream in the back of the head. Laughter bubbled from Dream’s chest. Even packed tightly in the back seat with Karl and George, he hadn’t felt this happy in months.

Quackity rode shotgun, and picked up a bag from his feet. “Change of clothes, Clay Barrow?” Dream reached for it before realizing that his hands were still cuffed.

“I think we’d better take care of these first,” he huffed, holding up his wrists for the boys to see. Sapnap whistled, turned his gaze away from the road. George pulled out a lock-pick and Karl gave a little applause as he unlocked the cuffs.

Dream was fairly sure he was the only who heard George lean in and whisper to him.

“Could’ve shot them off, but I thought they might come in handy later.” George’s breath was hot against Dream’s neck and against his will he felt a flush spread over his cheeks.

The moment was quickly interrupted by Quackity throwing the bag of clothes directly into his face.

“Get dressed, _cabrón._ Where we’re going they aren’t going to take well to a prison jumpsuit.”

Dream snorted, pulling the clothes from the bag. “Thanks, shithead. Pretty sure _nowhere_ would take well to the jumpsuit outside Eastham,” he retorted. A wrinkled button-up awaited him in the bag, alongside pressed slacks and dress shoes. Dream sighed contently. How he had missed the luxury of regular clothing.

Dream begins to shed the jumpsuit like a snakeskin, more than happy to rid of the uncomfortable, ill-fitting outfit. George’s hands are on him most of the time as if to offer help, though they achieved the exact opposite—not that Dream was one to complain.

The same could not be said for the rest of the gang, however.

“Keep that outta the car, would you? At least save it ‘til we’re in the clear,” Sapnap whined, eyeing the two through the rearview, clearly unimpressed. Karl and Quackity both chimed in with their own hums of agreement as Dream had just started to button up his shirt with the gracious “help” of his beau. 

George rolled his eyes, and begrudgingly slumped back into his own space. Dream leaned close to whisper, “Don’t worry, Georgie. There’ll be plenty of room to make up for lost time when we’re at the safehouse.”

George grinned wolfishly. There was a sort of hunger in his eyes, dark and subtle. Dream kept a few less buttons done up for George’s sake.

Dream kicked Sapnap’s seat. “Think you can find us some booze? I'm in the mood for celebration.”

“What did you think the plan was?” Sapnap pressed his foot down further on the gas pedal, and the car sped up. Their view is clouded by the dust created by fast tires on the dirt. “Of course, Dream. Anything for the jailbird.”

Eastham was left far behind, both in every literal sense as well as in Dream’s mind, where he desperately wanted to forget the horrors he had experienced at the prison—the poor living conditions, the maltreatment, the… _other inmates._ The moment George had appeared, Dream had begun compartmentalizing, as any well-respected man should. His problems were no one’s but his own, and so he was more than glad to desert the prison and all memories of it as it became nothing more than a spec on the horizon.

One abandoned car and prison uniform later, the boys found themselves entering an unassuming clothing store, Dream in his fresh set of attire. Sapnap strutted up to the cashier and knocked on the desk to get his attention. The cashier didn’t even look up from his magazine and nodded briefly to an oddly placed telephone booth towards the back of the shop.

“You needa make a call?” Dream asked Sapnap, receiving a wink in response. 

“Speakeasies have upgraded since you’ve been locked up, Dreamie,” he said, stepping into the booth and picking up the phone without dialing a number. “Clark Gable.”

At the celebrity's name, the side of the booth shared with the wall opening like a door and Dream watched in awe as his friends filed through the hidden entryway.

“Well isn’t that swell?” He said breathlessly. The door shut behind them and the boys stood in a small but well-decorated bar. The scent of tobacco smoke and whiskey filled the air, and Dream caught Quackity eyeing a pretty girl singing while standing on a makeshift stage.

“Well, don’t get all sweet on me,” George said, pulling at Dream’s arm. He pulled him to sit with the others at a booth trimmed with imitation velvet. 

“Miracle they’ve been able to stay open what with the money crisis,” Sapnap remarked, leaning back in the booth and waving over a waitress.

“Doesn’t matter how money is.” Karl wrapped an arm around Sapnap’s shoulder. “People like strong drinks and pretty girls.”

“Cheers to that,” Dream said, wrapping an arm around George’s waist, who immediately flushed at the touch. Dream nodded to the waitress as she placed glasses of whiskey at the booth. “Butt me?”

She obliged, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one for him.

“Smoking already?” George groaned, turning his nose at the smell of smoke. Dream responded by breathing a generous amount of smoke in his direction and leaning in so George could feel Dream’s breath on his ear.

“I think we both know you like it.” He smirked when George turned away, biting at his lip. “God, you don’t know how I’ve missed the gang.”

“How was prison?” Quackity asked, sipping his drink still half focused on the singer off to the left. “I’d be willing to bet they don’t let you smoke behind bars.”

“Depends how much the guards like you,” Dream chuckled. He shifted his cigarette to his other hand to indulge in the whiskey. “I certainly haven’t had a drink in a while.” Karl leaned over the table.

“So, you’re a man on the run now aren’t you? I hope you’re still keen to get back to the old business,” he said, a challenge laced in his voice. Dream tapped his cigarette in an ashtray and feigned disappointment.

“Have you all been waiting for me because you can’t even rob an old lady on your own?” He pouted, taking another drag from the cigarette. “And you always used to complain about how strict I kept the plan. Might be a bit much, sure, but it works, doesn’t it?”

Karl rolled his eyes but they all knew it was true. Dream had a thing for planning and the rest were happy to carry it out. If only he didn’t insist that they follow every instruction to a T. He got so insistent, making sure every robbery and getaway was designed to the minute. He had always had a desperate hunger for control. He simply could not allow room for error—error was what got people jailed, or even killed.

“So what, we haven’t had a lot of success since you got your ass locked up,” Sapnap remarked. “Stars are meant to fall, aren’t they?”

“Since when did you become a poet?” Quackity huffed, lighting up a cigarette of his own. “Last time I checked you were about as well-spoken as a goose.”

“I have my moments.”

“Rarely.”

“Okay, enough bickering, boys.” George clutched his glass in both hands, taking small sips. 

This was everything Dream had missed. Sitting with his gang, sipping something that burned his throat, head wrapped on the warm scent of cigar smoke. Laughing and arguing with the boys he was proud to call his brothers… and George. Dream wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the wait he had been forced through, but in the dim light of the speakeasy, music slipping through his fingers like silk, George looked even better than he remembered. 

He traced small circles against George’s waist, letting himself get drunk on the familiar touch. That was something he hadn’t had in prison—touch. Or, at least… certainly not in the way he wanted it.

Dream shivered at the thought but regained his composure when George turned to him, picking up on his distress. George dropped a hand to where Dream held his waist and squeezed it reassuringly.

“At least _I_ didn’t spend all this time smoking and ogling some Dumb Dora who could barely keep her head on her shoulders,” Sapnap barked, interrupting Dream’s thoughts. Quackity glared, tapping his glass on the table for a refill.

“She was a lovely woman,” he sniffed. “Simply too much for you to handle. By all means, keep reading your Robert Frost.”

“God damn,” Karl banged his head on the table. “If you don’t keep it down we’re going to get kicked out.”

“When’s our next job?” Dream asked unprompted. George grinned softly, squeezing his hand again. That lit up something in his blood, like a match to a trail of gasoline. Dream’s skin felt aflame, and in the best way possible.

“You sure you’re ready to get on the road already, tiger?” Sapnap asked, humour second to sincerity. Quackity’s gaze drifted back to the singer and his hand hovered around his glass.

“How do we know they didn’t straighten you out in there?” Karl asked, prompting Sapnap to shove him in the arm.

“You don’t gotta be a jerk about it,” Sapnap chided. Karl rubbed his arm and reformulated his sentence.

“I just mean… I don’t know. Prison seems like no fun and I would hate for it to have changed you.” Sapnap nodded approvingly. Leaning back in his seat, Dream shook his head.

“They didn’t change shit. And if they did anything…” He tapped gently at where a revolver was tucked along his waistband. “Let’s just say I’m not any more of an honest man.”

“Oh?” Quackity inquired, swirling his drink. “Care to prove that you haven’t gone soft?”

Dream straightened up, letting the liquor and adrenaline flow through him, free and smouldering. With his friends in front of him and George at his side, he had never had more to risk, and yet he found himself much more willing. Chaos hung tantalizingly within reach, and he finally had the opportunity to feed that fire, so what was the need to hesitate?

“Gladly,” Dream said, downing the rest of his drink.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fresh out of prison and on the run, why not start everything off with a bang? 
> 
> Tensions run high as Dream's leadership is questioned, and two lovers finally get some time behind closed doors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter two!! christmas came early or something idk
> 
> quick warning for smut near the end of the chapter! also a little bit of blood/violence, but nothing too graphic :)

Perhaps Dream should not have been allowed to make decisions when intoxicated, especially not on the same day he escapes prison. Or perhaps, instead, he should blame it on his so-called friends and their encouragement to do bad.

Maybe he should have remained in his seat, sipping his drink at an even pace, not giving into temptation.

Dream did not mind doing bad, but perhaps he _should_ every so often. Or, at least, maybe in giving into temptation, Dream should not have decided to pick on the biggest guy in the room.

Be it the fault of overconfidence, or the need for violence, the next day he likely would not remember the conversation he started with the big, burly man that sat at the end of the bar, nursing his whiskey, chatting up the woman next to him. She looked less than comfortable, so maybe Dream had been doing someone a favour, but still— _stupid, it was stupid._

It was a need to compensate for something lost at Eastham. Dignity. Power. It wasn’t in fact the fault of his cockiness, but rather an insecurity.

The next morning, Dream would not be able to say whether or not he had even gotten a proper word in edgewise before the man’s fist is recoiled and flying at Dream’s face with a vengeance. The speakeasy goes dead-silent, even the music halted. Dream brought a tentative touch to his now dislocated nose as he stumbled back, discovering the slow trickle of blood that would follow him into the night. 

It stung, but Dream grinned, the metallic tang of blood seeping through his lips. He had more than enough time to worry about a broken nose later. 

He thought about pulling out the revolver that sat tucked in his pants and ending the fight early, but that wouldn’t be any fun. 

Instead, Dream pulled back his own fist and swung forward, directing all his momentum into returning the fury the man had so graciously offered him. He did not stumble back quite like Dream had, but the punch served its purpose nonetheless.

“You piece of shit,” the man snarled.

Dream’s smile only grew. “I’ve barely gotten started.”

_“Fight!”_ Quackity cheered, and all hell broke loose.

Individual fights burst out across the speakeasy, if only for the sake of joining in. For the sake of causing chaos, which Dream was inclined to side with. Chaos was good. Chaos was _fun,_ and only at the cost of a few cuts and bruises if you were smart about it. 

The poor woman Dream had attempted to defend looked terrified and hurried out of the bar. Dream offered an apologetic, if charming look as she left, which turned out to be too much of a distraction as his opponent regained his composure, and tugged _hard_ on the collar of Dream’s shirt. He threw another punch at Dream, this time effectively splitting his lip. Pain blossomed across Dream’s face, dull agony making his head cloudy.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Dream heard Sapnap shout behind him, caught in his own scuffle. “Fight back, you idiot!”

Dream tilted his head back. “Just wanted to feel something first,” he announced jovially to his friend, before he turned back and spat a mouthful of blood at the man’s feet. His face grew more red than Dream thought humanly possible, stained with rage.

Dream took the man’s shoulders, dug his fingers in deep and brought a forceful knee to his stomach. The man let go and doubled over in pain, expression a portrait of shock. Dream bent down to meet his eye level.

“You didn’t think I’d give up that easy, did you?” Dream teased, if only a little cruelly. 

The man scoffed, bitter. “Still a piece of shit.”

Dream hummed. “I know. But a piece of shit that’ll beat the fuck outta _you.”_

He grabbed fistfuls of the man’s shirt and shoved him to the bar, which was already abandoned by the bartender. The glasses that remained were pushed to the ground, shattering into hundreds of pieces. The man groaned as his spine hit the polished wood, still needing to recover from Dream’s previous attack. Dream’s fist was raised once more, but was caught before he could inflict any more damage. The man reached behind him, and Dream was confused at first until a bottle was smashed against his head. Glass showered down his shoulders and to the floor as Dream reeled from the blow. His forehead burned with a fresh gash.

He stumbled back, only saved from falling into the table by Karl who provided welcome support. Quackity had gotten tangled up with another customer with whom he seemed to be sparing with using a barstool.

The man who had smashed the bottle over Dream’s head grinned smugly, but Sapnap was quick to back Dream up with a well-placed uppercut to the man’s jaw, sending him tumbling to the ground. 

“Thanks for the assist,” Dream called to Sapnap dazedly. He received an enthusiastic thumbs up before Sapnap continued to kick the fallen man in the stomach. George pulled Dream out of the fray.

“Are you hurt?” George stammered, taking inventory of all of Dream’s new wounds. God, he looked cute.

“I’ll live. Duck.”

“What?”

“ _Duck.”_

George understood the warning just in time to squat as a man attempted to tackle him. Instead, the man tripped over him and fell rather unceremoniously in Dream’s arms.

“I can let a man get away with hurting me,” Dream started, gripping the man’s arms furiously. “But trying to hurt my lover-boy? That, I can’t stand for.” His gaze burned through the man like salt on ice and George only had time to register the fear in the assailants eyes before Dream swung directly for his jaw.

With a sickening crack, the man spun to the floor, leaving Dream towering over him victoriously. A grimace passed over his face as he examined the blow to his knuckles and George quickly rushed back over.

“God, well you didn’t have to go and do that,” George said, trying to keep the pride out of his voice. When he met Dream’s eyes his heart couldn’t help but stutter at how the green in Dream’s eyes smouldered like a forest on fire.

“It felt _good,”_ Dream replied softly, gaze shifting back to his bruised and scraped knuckles. George tried not to internalize the cruel joy in Dream’s voice. It was _new_ … and new was scary.

Dream stretched out his fingers experimentally, apparently deciding that he was good to continue the fight as he turned and started to assist Quackity, who had taken an unfortunate knee to the groin courtesy of the singer.

“ _Puta,”_ he cursed, shuffling over to them. “She threw a drink in my face too. Must be playing hard to get.”

“If she was playing any harder, I think you might be dead,” Sapnap scoffed, joining them. The bar was still in a state of chaos, everyone seemingly having joined in the havoc Dream had single handedly caused.

“I will string you up by your goddamned feet,” Quackity retorted, and socked Sapnap’s shoulder. The latter glared back at the former, frowning.

“We should probably get out of here, before the fuzz shows up,” Karl advised, taking note of the volume and ruckus that occupied the venue. 

Then as if on cue, blaring police sirens grew near, obviously having been alerted of the fighting that was ongoing at the speakeasy. Some idiot must have called the police despite the speakeasy’s hidden nature amongst a prohibition.

“I guess not.” Karl’s eye twitched and he quickly pulled Quackity to his feet despite his protests. “You’re going to want to be standing if there’s a shootout.”

“And you questioned if I had lost my edge. I hope this answers your question,” Dream snickered and pulled his revolver from where it had been tucked in his waistband, cocking it and shooting two rounds into the ceiling.

“What the hell was that, Dream?” Sapnap asked, gathering their things. “You really haven’t changed?” He sounded amazed, and Dream ate it up. Pride swelled in his chest.

His vision hardened as two cops rushed through the hidden entrance, immediately shot dead, one nearby him. He turned to see George holding a rather large smoking rifle which he had apparently grabbed from behind the bar.

“Excellent job, George.”

“Yeah, whatever,” George replied, blushing. Another police officer raced through the door, openly firing at them. The boys all scurried away, Dream pulling George down behind a fallen table.

Dream peeked his head around the edge of the table, firing off more shots as a few more cops flooded in. When he returned to George’s side he was breathless, riding the high of adrenaline and freedom.

With the still warm barrel of his gun, he tipped George’s head up to look at him. It was amazing how even with their lives at stake, George’s eyes still shined with admiration for him. It was so perfect how he could make him melt at his touch.

“I know you love me like this,” Dream whispered, brushing a finger over George’s lips before continuing to defend their position, leaving George all hot and bothered. Dream ducked down again and George pulled him over to place a soft kiss along his jaw and whisper to him.

“I do.”

A smattering of bullets hit their table and with three more shots from the gang, all the cops were on the floor. They peeked over their respective hiding places and were quick to jog out of the speakeasy and out to the road.

“What kind of car are we thinking, boys?” Sapnap surveyed the selection, Karl lagging behind to help support Quackity who was still struggling to walk.

“You want something flashy, Georgie?” Dream asked quietly, tightening his grip on the other’s waist. “Want to ride out of here with everyone knowing it was us and what we did?” George’s gaze darted around but he retained his composure.

“Given we’re going to our safe house, might want to pick something more discreet so we aren’t followed,” George muttered curtly. Dream gave him a kiss on the forehead.

“Smart boy,” he whispered. “Sap! Find something subtle. We don’t want the fuzz following us home, ey?” He called across the lot.

Sapnap nodded back and hopped into a brown Chrysler, the rest of the gang close to follow. Within a minute, they were all situated in the car and pulling out of the lot. The police car sirens were still on, a sharp blaring that they were all happy to leave behind.

“Think we’ll have any trouble?” Karl asked from the back. Dream shook his head, already working on memorizing the drive.

“Not here. Not tonight.”

. . .

  
The safehouse was coated in a layer of dust, untouched, uncleaned for quite possibly weeks. It was a long-since foreclosed farmhouse just on the edge of civilization, inconspicuous enough that no sane person would think much of it, and secluded enough that the gang could manage their planning and hiding out with little difficulty.

Sapnap parked the car in overgrown shrubbery to conceal the vehicle to an extent, though also keeping an ease of access in case a quick getaway was needed. They all clambered out of the car, exhausted and barely keeping hold of the adrenaline that had been pumping through their veins.

They each retired to their separate corners of the house, Sapnap scrounging for non perishables they had left behind for times like these, Karl heading to sleep, and Quackity helping himself to another drink. Dream and George found their way to a bedroom with the excuse of calling it a night, though the rest of the gang shared a knowing look as they crept away, hand-in-hand.

George planted Dream down on the bed, ordering him to stay put as he fetched a cloth and searched for first aid supplies to tend to the cut that had just barely begun to scab over on Dream’s head. Blood had trickled and congealed down Dream’s face and settled at his eyebrow, a dark, rusty colour. The injury only stung distantly, not quite deep nor painful enough to earn Dream’s attention. Besides, Dream was happy to watch George’s concentration as he cleaned the wound, tongue peeking from the corner of his mouth, eyes focused and warm. Tender. Dream could map out George’s face for eons, and he still wouldn’t be satiated.

Dream was still staring at George when the latter stepped back to admire his work, and gave a self-satisfactory nod to himself. 

“Next time don’t get a bottle smashed on your head, yeah?” George scolded gently, a quaint smile on his lips. “How’s your nose? And lip?”

Dream shrugged, waving George off. “They’re fine. Nothing that won’t heal.”

A silence fell over them, quiet and comfortable. Dream had missed this. He hadn’t known peace back at Eastham.

George rolled his eyes, tossing the cloth aside. George pushed Dream further back on the bed, and climbed into his lap, straddling Dream’s hips. Dream looked up at George adoringly, a grin tugging at his lips. George draped his arms over Dream’s shoulders, leaning in close.

“I think it’s about time we _talk,_ don’t you think?” Dream asked. He began to press light kisses down George’s jaw, migrating his way towards his lips.

George brought a hand to Dream’s face, lifting his chin. His eyes were dark, clouded with lust, as if he’d been waiting for this moment—which he likely had been. Dream knew he was.

“I would love to,” George said lowly. “Talk.”

George ducked his head to meet Dream’s lips, mindful of his nose. Dream’s split lip stung at the contact, but nothing he couldn’t manage in exchange for a moment with George. To _talk._ The first kiss was slow, painfully slow, but passion and desperation were pooling, bubbling towards the surface.

“I missed this,” Dream said, breathless, when they pulled apart for air. “I missed you.”

George shifted in Dream’s lap, rudely so in Dream’s opinion, as interest blossomed low in Dream’s stomach, and his clothes suddenly felt too confining. “Let me make up for it,” George whispered, and a flame is lit.

Their second kiss was messier, more frantic, both afraid of the fleeting moments they had together. Two men on the run would never be allowed peace again, so they were both needy to make the most of the little intimate, _private_ time they shared.

Without a warning, George’s hand drifted towards the hem of Dream’s pants, where his wrist was harshly caught by Dream and wrenched away.

George frowned. “Dream, what—”

Dream loosened his grip on George and shook his head. “Tell me first,” he rasped. 

“I’m sorry,” George apologized softly. There was an unspoken understanding between them, as George brought his free hand to cup Dream’s face and brushed his thumb over scarred skin. “I didn’t realize…”

“You didn’t know,” Dream corrected. He leaned into George’s touch, this time more accepted, welcomed. “Not your fault.”

“Guide me, then,” George said. “We said we’d talk, didn’t we?”

Dream chuckled, though there was no humour in the sound. “That we did,” he agreed. He brought George’s other hand to his waist. “Just—we’ll be careful, alright?”

George nodded once, firmly. 

A slow, lascivious grin spread across Dream’s face. He leaned in close to George’s ear and whispered, “But that doesn’t mean we can’t still tear each other apart.”

George sucked a sharp, shuddering breath through his teeth. “I like your thinking.”

“You always do, George,” Dream whispered, and watched as a deep blush crept its way up George’s neck. Dream leaned close to capture George in another kiss, to feel and taste chapped lips once more. George shifted in Dream’s lap again in retaliation, creating an uncomfortable friction against Dream’s crotch. 

Dream groaned into George’s mouth at the sensation, setting them both off like fireworks in an empty field. George’s hands fumbled to unbutton Dream’s shirt, hands grabbing desperately at the fabric. His breath hitched as George’s cool hands ran down his chest, followed closely by trails of soft kisses.

“All good?” George asked breathlessly against Dream’s torso.

“You fucker,” Dream cursed. Despite George’s hot breath against him, a shiver crept down Dream’s spine.

“I’m pretty sure that’s your job, sweetheart,” George replied teasingly. He slipped Dream’s shirt off the rest of the way, tossing it to the floor. His hands trailed the expanse of Dream’s skin, bruised and scarred from many fights asides from the one that had taken place that night. Dream had a tendency to instigate, but George had no complaints—perhaps mainly because it turned him on.

“Menace,” Dream said instead this time. His hands, warm and calloused, slithered underneath George’s henley, freeing it from beneath the hem of his pants. George saved him the trouble of removing the shirt by pulling it over his head by the collar, throwing it to the ground alongside Dream’s clothing. George was much less marred than Dream, though no more delicate. 

George did not have a tendency to instigate, was all.

“I don’t imagine you wish to prove me wrong,” George purred. “Unless—”

“No,” Dream growled. “You think I waited months just to let _you_ take the reins? Never, George. Never.”

George grinned. “Then start making up for that lost time, cowboy. I’ve waited just as patiently.”

Dream hooked his arms under George’s legs and flipped them around, laying George on the bed. He began to unbuckle George’s belt, slipping it from the loops that kept it in place. George offered out his hands, wrists pressed together in wait. Dream drew his eyebrows together.

“I didn’t realize…”

“It’s been a while,” George said. He tilted his head, almost as a show of false innocence. “Besides, the handcuffs were left behind by… _accident_. A belt would serve the same purpose, no?”

Dream huffed, amused. George pressed his hands closer to Dream to allow for the belt to be looped and tightened around his wrists, providing restraint for George. Perhaps the suggestion had also come about as a way to keep George from accidentally letting his hands wander too far as they had earlier.

Regardless, Dream didn’t mind.

George shifted back toward the headboard as Dream undid his own belt to secure George to the bed. The handcuffs would have made it easier, but alas—Dream was nearly certain Karl, Sapnap, and Quackity had all conspired to leave them behind with the jumpsuit and the car. 

Dream began to slowly, teasingly pull George’s pants off, ignoring George’s quiet pleas for Dream to _go faster, Dream. We don’t have all night._

“Oh, but we do have all night, Georgie,” Dream chuckled, digging his fingers into the hollows of George’s hips, making him whimper. “Isn’t that right?”

_“Dream,”_ George whined. “Want you _now.”_

“Impatient,” Dream tutted. He traced a careful, taunting finger along his hip and towards his lower stomach. “Can you not wait a few seconds more after _months?_ Shameful, really.”

George groaned, needy and irritable. Those few seconds felt like an eternity in comparison to their months apart, because now George could feel Dream’s rough hands against his skin, see the lustful look in his eyes, the way Dream looked absolutely ready to ruin George. Rip him to shreds. Fuck him in half.

“I know you can’t wait much longer either, Dream,” George argued. “I know that look.”

“What look?” Dream traced circles on George’s inner thigh, making him shiver in anticipation. Eyes smoky golden, and cheeks flushed the colour of wine, George’s breath hitched.

“You look like you could eat me _alive_.”

That was all that Dream needed, bringing his fingers to George’s soft, love-stained lips.

“Suck,” he ordered. George complied without complaint, gladly taking Dream’s fingers in his mouth, not daring to break eye contact. Dream looked down on him, almost _prideful,_ and most certainly _predatory._

George’s mouth followed Dream’s hand as far as he could as the latter removed his fingers, before he pulled back slowly, resting his head back on the pillow, staring up at Dream in adoration. He gasped as Dream pushed a long, less-than-tentative finger in his hole, closely followed by a second. It was the first time George had been touched by someone other than himself in much too long.

Dream began to work him open, not carefully, but not carelessly either. George threw his head back at the sensation, exposing the length of his neck to the world. He moaned as Dream pushed a third finger in, curling and spreading inside of George.

“Want you—” George panted. He corrected, _“Need_ you inside me. Sooner than later, Dream.”

“Desperate, are we?” Dream asked, voice low and gravelly. George’s cock eagerly twitched at the sound, a fluttery feeling erupting in the pit of his stomach. Dream’s voice had that effect on him.

“Not desperate,” George breathed. “Just—it’s been months since— _Dream.”_

As George spoke, Dream pulled out his fingers, and immediately replaced the emptiness with the tip of his cock, thrusting in almost crudely slow. George let out a strangled noise as Dream bottomed out before he began pumping in and out.

Dream’s breath was hot against George’s neck as he thrusted in, deeper and harder with every push of his hips. The belt looped tight around George’s wrists chaffed with every jolt of movement, surely to leave a mark for the coming days. George moaned loudly, unashamedly into Dream’s ear every time his cock brushed against George’s prostate.

Dream nosed at George’s ear, nipping at his earlobe as he railed into George. A blush rose and etched its way into George’s skin, tinging him a light, dusty pink. George’s cock rubbed against Dream’s stomach, pressed flush between their bodies in such close proximity. George hooked his legs over Dream’s shoulders, keeping the man close as his thrusts became more sporadic, messy, lazy, as they both grew closer to finishing.

“Dream, go—go harder, Dream,” George stammered between breaths. “Tear me apart like you… like you said you would.”

“Of course,” Dream said. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

George cried out at the increase in force, digging crescents into his own palms, curling his toes as he nearly reached his climax. His breathing stuttered as Dream continued to pound into him without any sign of mercy. 

George felt like he was on top of the world as he finished between them, unannounced and without warning, too broken for any more words, at least for the time being. George rode out the remainder of his high as Dream came inside him not too long after. 

Dream collapsed beside him, both their chests heaving as they finally caught time for air. 

“We’re getting so much shit for this tomorrow morning, I reckon,” George remarked. “Mind untying me?”

Dream propped himself up and began to loosen the belt that tethered George to the bed, then the one that held his hands together. Unsurprisingly, George’s wrists were branded a cherry red.

“They give us shit no matter what we do,” Dream said. “Not that I care. They know better than to take it too far, don’t they?”

“Only because you’d shoot them if they did,” George joked. He rubbed his wrists gently, reminiscent of the sensation of the leather burning into his skin. “Cloth?”

Dream hummed and nodded, and slipped off the bed in the direction of the bathroom. He returned shortly with a dampened, ratty old rag—but it would do. George sighed at the cool feeling of the material against skin that still felt like it was on fire, wet with sweat and come. 

“Dream,” George said suddenly, hesitantly, as Dream helped clean him off. “Is there—did something happen at Eastham?”

Dream paused. His jaw clenched, lips pulling into a thin, straight line. “Nothing happened,” he said coldly. It sent shivers down George's spine, and not the good kind. Dream cleared his throat, almost shaking off the iciness. He added, much softer, “Nothing you need to worry about for now, anyways. We’re here, and that’s all that matters.”

George was not exactly satisfied with the response, but he was not in the mood to further ruin the moment. Dream was right, anyway. They could talk about it another time. Whatever _it_ was. George sighed and sat up. He traced a gentle finger across Dream’s jaw, tilting his head up as he reached Dream’s chin. Dream’s eyes had a hidden sadness, _forlornness_ in them, but it was nothing George would comment on. 

George smiled, and Dream reciprocated, though it didn’t reach those same desolate—yet fierce—green eyes. “I missed you. Us,” George admitted, though he knew Dream already knew that. He also knew Dream felt the same.

“I did too,” Dream said. He discarded the now dirty cloth, placing it aside. “We’d better get some rest. Big day of planning ahead of us.”

George raised an eyebrow, bemused. “Is that so?”

“It is,” Dream told him. He leaned in close to George’s ear. “But you’ll have to wait until tomorrow to find out.”

George swatted at Dream’s chest and rolled his eyes. “Always one for dramatics, you are.”

“You love it.”

“I do,” George agreed without hesitance. There was no need for a pause when he already knew his answer. It would always be the same every time, without fail. “I really do.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nice fluffy chapter for you all :)

Dream was woken up by a soft  _ click!  _ and a brief flash close to his face. He peeked an eye open, not greeted by blinding sunlight, but rather a lens shoved in his space by George. George blinked at Dream, a warm smile taking up residence on his face.

“G’morning,” Dream mumbled, letting his eyelids fall shut once more. The rest had been nice, from the many exhaustions from the day prior, both good and bad. His words were slurred as he asked, “What’re you doing with a camera, Georgie? Where’d you even get it from?”

“None of your business,” George teased, and another click sounded. “You know how handsome you look in the mornings, Mr. Barrow?”

“Well,  _ Mr. Parker,” _ Dream mimicked. “You seemed to have failed to realize that I can’t see myself without a mirror.”

“Which is why I’m taking pictures,” George said, matter-of-factly. “For someone so smart, you’re not all that clever.”

Dream laughed. He opened his eyes once more, propping himself up on his elbow. The camera was lowered, now. “I think it’s only right that I disagree with you on that one, George.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re right.” George winked. He set the camera down on the bedside table. George’s eyes searched Dream’s face for a moment, for what, though, Dream couldn’t tell. “Your nose is already looking better. Swelling’s gone down. And not horribly crooked that it deforms that ugly mug of yours.”

Dream hummed. “I do recall you telling me that I look handsome not two minutes ago,” Dream said. “Which is it, George?”

George flicked Dream’s forehead, just an inch to the right of the healing cut from the previous night. “Unfortunately for me, I will always think you look handsome. But I am being serious about your nose. It should heal up fine, by the looks of it.”

“Thanks for the reassurance, doctor.” Dream chuckled, rolling over onto his back. He stared at the stipple ceiling above. Dust was highlighted by a ray of sun that peeked through the window, the soft glow of morning creeping into the room. It was peaceful, and surely the calm before the next inevitable storm. Peace was foreign to criminals. 

It almost felt unnatural to Dream.

“Of course. It’s what I’m here for,” George said. He trailed a light finger over Dream’s exposed shoulder. “And what  _ you’re  _ here for is not to lie in bed all morning, but to get your ass up and explain whatever heist you have brewing inside that head of yours to me and the others.”

Dream grunted, propping himself up on his elbows one last time. The golden light that filtered into the room made George’s eyes glow a shade of amber. He just needed a little more time with him, to drown into those pools of syrup.

“Do we still have that record player stashed here somewhere?” He mumbled. George brushed a hand through his tousled hair and shrugged.

“Probably. What for?” George asked. His gaze was curious, mirthful.

A lazy grin spread on Dream’s face. “Dance with me, George. Before I have to be a responsible leader again.”

“I can’t guarantee those records aren’t warped, but,” George paused, biting back a smile. “I may have an idea.”

George slid out of the bed and disappeared off in search for what he needed. Dream crawled out of bed once George was out of sight, and began to don his clothes once more, quick as to avoid the morning cold that awaited him outside the covers, raising goosebumps down his arms and legs, and prickling at his neck and cheeks.

George returned shortly, though not with any records nor record player, but rather with an old radio. 

“I didn’t want to confront them yet,” he shrugged, turning the dial on the radio. “Swiped this from the other room.”

It crackled to life and the charming intro of “Let Me Call You Sweetheart” poured through the room, thick and sweet as honey. Guiding George to the centre of the room, Dream dragged his hands down to settle on George’s waist. 

_ Let me call you sweetheart, I’m in love with you. _

With a stretch and a sigh, George reached his arms up to wrap around Dream’s neck, one absently stroking his upper back, head resting on his chest to hear the pounding of Dream’s heartbeat. To George, there was no better sound. The music paled in comparison.

_ Let me hear you whisper that you love me too. _

Swaying gently, they let the rise and fall of the lyrics guide their pace, floorboard creaking under their feet. Dream rested his chin on George’s hair and sighed contentedly. So this was what he had been so homesick for at Eastham. Not this farmhouse, not the gang, not even George. Moments like these kept him sane, a breath of fresh air in a deep ocean.

_ Keep the love light glowing, in your eyes, so true. _

Sometimes Dream feared that he had fallen too far. Especially some of those nights in prison, he was sure he would never be able to wrench himself out of the pit, yet here he was, safe and warm in George’s arms.

_ Let me call you sweetheart, I’m… in love with you. _

Dream began to hum along with the music, his deep voice filling the room. George closed his eyes and smiled lazily, further burying his face into Dream’s chest. Dream felt dazed, drunk on love and warmth and  _ George _ . It was better than any high he could find at the bottom of a bottle.

The song ended but neither wanted to pull away yet, so instead they waited in each other’s arms, breathing each other in. They didn’t need words to show the pure adoration they shared. At that moment they both decided,  _ this will be my safe place, in your arms _ .

At last, Dream straightened and George’s hands settled on his shoulders, squeezing gently. Eyes locked, Dream placed a peck on George’s forehead and pulled away hesitantly.

“If we don’t get down there soon, they’re gonna come and barge in up here,” Dream chuckled, removing George’s hands from where they sat on his shoulders.

“Unfortunately.” George sighed. “You don’t imagine they heard… last night?”

Dream laughed at George’s vague gesture, though also at the realization itself. “Walls here are pretty thin, George. I’d be amazed if they  _ didn’t  _ hear you moaning my name,” he razzed. “You’re rather loud, you know that?”

“And  _ you _ are a nuisance,” George returned, playfully poking at Dream’s chest. He gently pat Dream’s arm with his other hand. “Finish getting dressed, then we can face the music together, yeah?”

Dream snorted.  _ “Face the music,”  _ he parroted. “As if they haven’t been subjected to hearing our  _ escapades _ before.”

“Call it an  _ escapade  _ again and I’ll see about removing your other toes,” George threatened, though there is no ill intent behind his words.

Dream frowned. “How did you…?”

George raised his brows. “You don’t wear shoes during those  _ escapades,  _ now do you?” He teased. George brought a hand to Dream’s face, dragging a thumb over his cheekbone. Much softer, he said, “You can tell me about it later, alright?”

George melted away, and so did his warmth, as he provided room for Dream to finish readying himself for the day. He buttoned the rest of his shirt and looped his belt through his pants, memories of the night before still burned into his touch. Dream threw a tie around his neck and shrugged on a jacket, left behind in the wardrobe collecting cobwebs. He knocked on the bathroom door where George had gone and hidden away for the time being. 

George was now properly dressed himself as well, as he emerged from the washroom. He greeted Dream with a smile and tightened Dream’s tie, running his hands down Dream’s blazer, flattening it against his torso. George’s eyes twinkled, excited for the day ahead. Barring the night previous, it had been a long time since the gang had committed crimes together. Heists without Dream had oftentimes been less than successful.

“Well,” George started. He took a deep, calming breath. “Better now than never.”

“You say that every time,” Dream said.

George hummed, but said nothing in reply. Instead, he reached a hand down to interlace his fingers with Dream’s, pulling towards the hall. Dream stumbled behind him until his feet caught up with George’s pace and rhythm, inconsistent, unpredictable, and to his own beat. George’s own song, known only to the man himself.

“Oh good, they’re awake,” Quackity deadpanned as the two reached the bottom of the stairs, still hand in hand. His nose is buried in an old newspaper from who knew how long ago, judging by the torn and yellowing pages. “Glad someone had a good night.”

“Still hung up on that singer, are you?” George asked.

“More disturbed at your audacity to have sex as loud as you do in a house with three other people in it,” Quackity responded, unimpressed. His gaze didn’t move from the printed words in front of him. “We get it, you fuck. Congratulations. Maybe don’t let the rest of the world know next time.”

“For once in my life, I’m inclined to agree with him,” Sapnap said. “Dream, what the hell were you doing to him? I’m surprised the boy is still walking.”

They all groaned and Karl began to bang his head on the table.

“Y’know what? I don’t wanna know!” Karl announced, throwing his hands up. Dream chuckled, settling himself at the table.

“Glad we threw out the cuffs,” Quackity muttered into his paper.

“Enough about our…  _ escapades _ ,” Dream said, George shooting him a knowing look. “We’ve got real work to do. I’ve got a job for us.”

“A job already?” Sapnap quirked a brow and ruffled Dream’s hair. “I forgot how fast you work, Mr. Barrow.”

“Mhm, made quick work of George too,” Karl cracked, grunting as George whacked him in the back of the head. “Ow, Georgie. That really hurt,” he feigned.

“God, I hope you boys haven’t gone too soft while I was gone,” Dream snorted, fingers tapping the table restlessly. “First job is a big one, and it’s gonna take a whole lotta luck.”

“Are you sure you’re ready? You took a few hard hits last night,” Sapnap said, tracing where Dream had been struck with the bottle on his own face.

“As long as we stick to the times I have laid out, everything should go smoothly,” Dream assured him. Quackity finally set his paper down to groan rather loudly in complaint.

“I forgot how much of a hard-ass you are when it comes to timing,” he whined.

“Well it’s what’s kept you alive and out of jail this long, isn’t it?” Dream returned, voice dripping with false joviality. Quackity sank low into his seat, shoulders hunched. He should know better than to be bold in the face of a determined leader. It had been much too long.

“That’s what I thought,” Dream said pointedly. Dream’s stern gaze prickled at the back of Quackity’s neck as it lingered for a moment too long for his liking. Dream was not a bad or evil person by any means, but he could be fucking  _ terrifying  _ if he wished it so.

George dropped himself into the dusty rocking chair that sat in the corner of the room, creaking under his weight. “So what  _ is  _ your big plan, Dream? What  _ have _ you been plotting?”

Karl, Quackity, and Sapnap all turned to George. Sapnap frowned. “You’re telling me even  _ you  _ don’t know—”

“A jewelry heist,” Dream said simply. The four immediately returned their attention to Dream, interest peaked. “I’ve been planning a jewelry heist.”

“A…  _ jewelry heist,” _ Karl repeated slowly. His brow is furrowed, arms crossed over his chest. Karl tilted his head. “We’ve never done one of those before.”

“Which is exactly why I endeavour to do it,” Dream explained. His gaze briefly drifted to George, before hardening once more as he looked back to Karl. “For reasons.”

“Reasons like selling and making a quick buck for it, I’d hope,” Quackity interjected. It’s teasing at the surface, but in the depths of his tone, he is nothing but serious. A jewelry heist was new for the gang. It wasn’t direct cash. It was uncharted territory.

“Of course,” Dream said. “What else?”

He eyed George again, a coy smile hidden in his expression. Only George seemed to catch it.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Sapnap asked, waving a vague gesture at Dream. “Tell us what it is, then. Surely we’ve waited long enough.”

. . .

“You didn’t want to work so you cut your fucking toes off?” Quackity asked incredulously. Dream shrugged, the afternoon sun glaring down on his collared shirt, cuffs rolled up to his elbows.

“Yeah,” he replied absently. “I mean it worked. Gotta do what you gotta do.”

“…Fair enough.”

The boys sat outside in a barren field, air thick and dry with dust. Jackets were tossed aside on the ground, discarded due to the heat. The buzz of cicadas lulled them to the point of lounging in the sun, warning of a calm day ahead. If only.

“What were you doing this whole time if you weren’t working jobs?” Dream ran a hand through George’s dark hair, hot from the sunshine. The latter leaned against Dream’s chest, breaths falling into the same rhythm.

“Not much,” Karl hummed. “Quackity tried to become a famous singer but that ended as quickly as it began.” He flinched as Quackity threw an empty soup can at him.

“I literally didn’t, stop lying.”

“I wasn’t lying,” Karl feigned confusion.

“Okay, yeah, but it didn’t end  _ that  _ quickly.”

“Enough,” Sapnap groaned impatiently. “Karl, you didn’t do shit that whole time. Quackity, you’re a horrible singer. Agreed?”

“I dunno,” George interrupted. “I liked Quackity’s singing. It was very… abstract. Kinda went on for a long time, though.”

“You think that was long?” Quackity’s mouth pressed into a line, just as he always did before cracking probably some of the worst jokes known to man. “Maybe spend the night with me,  _ Georgie _ .”

“Oh, we can take out a ruler if you want,” Dream challenged, hugging George in even closer. They burst out in a torrent of giggles before once again settling into comfortable silence.

With the blue sky above him and his friends at his side, Dream could almost pretend he wasn’t the monster that he was. The monster that he had become after those months at Eastham.

“Are you guys happy?” He asked, interrupting the quiet. Uneasiness stirred in his head but it settled when the boys all nodded lazily.

“If I hadn’t joined the gang I’d still be working on my  _ abuelo _ ’s farm,” Quackity sighed. “I wouldn’t wish his cooking on my worst enemy.”

“Sometimes I miss my mum,” George added. “But we have something here that nobody else has.”

“A criminal record?” Sapnap huffed.

“Freedom,” George replied sincerely. He tugged at his suspenders and shifted himself upright a bit. “Bold words from you Sapnap. You’d be in college, studying and all that. That doesn’t sound fun.” Sapnap shook his head.

“My folks couldn’t afford college, especially not in this economy.” He nudged the boy next to him. “Karl’s the well-off one.”

“My pa runs an automobile shop,” Karl replied. “Not exactly Henry Ford but I guess we got along well enough.”

“Yet you left,” Dream said, posing it partly as a question. Karl propped himself up on his elbows, blowing a cloud of dust away from his face.

“There wasn’t anything for me there. Like George said, this is freedom.”

They all thought about that for a moment. George played with Dream’s hair, relishing in how golden it looked in afternoon light, like shimmering sand on a beach. Though he was the same Dream  _ physically,  _ George couldn’t help but notice the harsh set of his jaw, the hardened expression on his face. It was a look that had surely stemmed from whatever he had experienced during his time in prison, and it worried George—not that he’d admit it there, to the open field and his friends.

“Well.” Quackity drew a sharp breath, loudly patting his knees before getting up, shaking off the uncomfortable, foreign feeling.  _ Peace. Calm. Serenity.  _ The idea of a normal life, of living by society’s standards. It wasn’t in Quackity’s blood. It wasn’t in  _ any  _ of their blood. “I’d say it’s about time we get our shit ready. I’m gonna start pulling my hair out if you idiots keep me here any longer. These flies are  _ killer.” _

They all watched as Quackity trudged through the field and back towards the house. Karl and Sapnap were soon to follow, until only Dream and George remained, tangled up with each other as one unit. As if they were never meant to be apart ever again—and they would both make certain that rang true.

“I missed you,” George mumbled into Dream’s shirt. “I know I’ve said it before… it’s just really important to me that you know.”

“I do,” Dream hummed softly, watching how George’s lashes brushed against his cheeks. “You know I missed you.”

“How’s your lip?” George asked, bringing a hand up to cup Dream’s cheek and dragging a finger over the raw skin. Dream winced but he tried not to show it too much.

“Not bad enough to stop me from kissing you,” he said assuredly. George giggled and leaned in to kiss him softly, lips bitter with the taste of instant coffee from earlier.

George sat back as they pulled away, and sighed. He looked to Dream with wide, earnest eyes. It reminded Dream of a doe—innocent, yet cunning. Sincere and loving. “Seriously, though,” George said. “You’re alright?”

Dream’s breath hitched, as if he feared the question no matter how many times it had been asked. He flashed what was meant to be a reassuring smile. “Never been better.”

George doesn’t look like he was entirely convinced, but he doesn’t push. Surely Dream would come around eventually. “That’s great to hear,” George replied weakly. “I love you, Dream, you know that?”

“I do,” Dream said. “I love you too, George. I always have.”

A long silence followed. It wasn’t uncomfortable, per se, but nor did either man enjoy it. Like a sort of mild purgatory, with things left unsaid, things  _ meant  _ to be said, but caught in throats, at the tip of tongues. The only sound that filled the air was their breathing intermingled with the calm wind.

George brushed a stray hair from out of Dream’s face. “Well. I say we ought to go help the other three with prep. It’s a big day coming.”

“That it is.” Dream nodded his agreement. “That it is, my love.”

**Author's Note:**

> follow us on twitter!
> 
> [crimson](https://twitter.com/crimsvn2)
> 
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> 
> until the next update! :)


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